Afraid of the Lonely
09-28-2014, 05:20 PM
In the frosty north, there was a bit of a sickly woman in the midst, lost as ever. The warrioress observed from afar, rubies searching the queen for any sense of familiarity in her curved markings and elegant violet eyes. Her mismatched toes would quietly crunch the snow beneath her weight, her steely banner hung low as she walked forth, the woman dwarfing her by much, not much of a surprise. Her thick black pelt stood out like a beacon against the snow, but she winced at the sound of a rasping cough. This queen was skinnier than a branch, poorer than a peasant. A quiet look of both curiousity and concern was smeared upon her facial features, slowly approaching so she wouldn't be taken for a threat. Her posture was relaxed, but muscles were tense in case this woman was hostile. This woman was obviously in trouble and injured, and now wasn't time to be dead silent as usual. |
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